Queen of the Riddermark
by Shango Sanguine
Summary: Tell me: who rules Rohan? one-shot


Éomer counted the steps he took up toward his home of the last decade.

1... 2... 3...

He told himself to take powerful strides. He had the opportunity to observe real lions in this recent campaign to the mid-Harad, and although underwhelming in their activity levels, they did manage to instill in Éomer a sense of aesthetic majesty. Éomer now had an idea of what it could mean to be the "Lion of Rohan".

4... 5... 6...

He told himself to take a deep breath. The admiration of his subjects was louder when it was quiet. He smiled benignly to those regarding him with awe. He was the charm that made people forget, even just for a moment, petty squabbles about who owed whom what. Éomer King believed in unity by charisma.

7... 8... 9...

He reminded himself that his captains were the only ones in on it; and mum was the word. He told himself not to look at Éothain. That cheeky bugger had tested his resolve before.

10... 11... 12...

At the top, the door-wardens bowed low, and for a moment Éomer saw the graceful bows of servants in sprawling palaces far to the East of the Rhûn Sea. The doors were swept aside and he heard the clumsy groaning, as if the planks that made up the door didn't feel like being bound together.

At the far end of the hall were council members and his queen... his lioness. He told himself to smile in a dignified manner when he saw the flash in her eyes. She curtseyed with a deferential grace, and beckoned for the welcoming cup.

The cup was drained and place back on the tray in such a manner as to call back memories of tea ceremonies.

_How did she know?_

Lothíriel Queen graciously dismissed servants, and led the way back to the Royal Chambers. She threw a coquettish glance over her shoulder at him. Some of the servants tried to mask their laughs as coughs and failed miserably. Éomer wasn't sure if this was better: to let the servants gossip than for them to know what he was really in for.

He was the Lion of Rohan! He told himself to take powerful strides and deep breaths, to not look at Éothain as he smiled in a dignified manner at the council members. He followed Lothíriel.

Of course they didn't stop in the bed-chamber. Lothíriel led him to the study nestled away from strategic eavesdropping locations.

"Please sit," she said sweetly, gesturing to the chair near the fireplace.

Éomer fidgeted awkwardly. "Could I please say something first?"

"Please sit," she repeated, rummaging through papers on the desk. Éomer sat. He could never get over how a victorious man could feel so categorically defeated.

The chair was softer than he recalled. His wife took out a footstool for him. She knelt down and took off his boots with care. She was silent as she began to massage his feet. Éomer was worried about what she wasn't doing.

"So."

Éomer closed his eyes and leaned back. Might as well get comfortable for this.

"What was that?"

"Had to do it, sweet," he offered lamely.

"And how did you like the reports I spent months compiling?"

"Well, it was a popular idea with the men." He was dithering.

"Ah, I see. Politics." Lothíriel dug into a particularly tense part of his foot and he gasped. "Please, tell me the finer points of diplomacy."

"Lady Love-"

"Diplomacy, Éomer."

"I'm practicing for next time," he said.

"You're practicing evasive maneuvers."

"Well..." She looked at him expectantly. "Well... Aragorn wasn't sure, and I convinced him."

"That solves the question of blame."

Éomer sank further into his chair. "But they told us there were weapons stored there."

"Are they your wife?"

"I suppose I wouldn't have defeated them as easily if they were." Lothíriel was hiding a smile.

"May I read you a story tonight?" she asked innocently.

"Oh please no," he groaned.

"It's a lovely story about how a boy doesn't listen and walks in on a sacred ceremony with his sword drawn."

"To be fair, they had their swords drawn too."

"A lovely story about a boy who eventually stops comparing swords to cocks." She dug into a spot on his foot again. Tension evaporated.

"Maybe he wanted to be a poet when he grew up."

"Tell me when the boy grows up."

Éomer pouted. "You know boys grow up later than girls do. Tell me when his lady love grows up first."

"Oh, she has. She does adult things, like cleaning up diplomatic messes."

"Well, I think the boy just wants to get her attention."

Lothíriel snorted.

"Éomer, why didn't you read my reports? This arrangement won't work if you do things like that."

"I wanted you to dress me down."

"Éomer!"

He smiled. "I just wanted to see if I learned anything from my lovely lioness who goes in for the kill and does all the work and still brings the best parts to her lion."

"So why didn't you take the best part this time?"

"I think we've stretched this comparison a little far."

"I just..."

Éomer looked at her when she trailed off. She was furrowing her brow, and this usually came just before she bawled her eyes out.

"I can't run this country if you just disobey my orders!" she wailed.

He felt bad. He had all but officially handed rule of his country over to this woman so he could pretend he was just a Marshal again. She couldn't pretend anything.

Lothíriel stood up with a sigh and went to her desk. The reports came in daily, and it had come to the point where she had to take on an extra maid to do the embroidery used as evidence for the council that she was only up to womanly pursuits.

"They were actually quite forgiving this time. You really have charm with the written word, but it's very difficult to copy your scribes' handwriting," she said with a grin. Éomer read through the forged document and laughed.

"I am quite the wordsmith, aren't I?" He took the quill and signed his own name next to the seal. It was dishonest, if only for the fact that they did things in a slightly different order. Normally, the seal went on the document after the king had double checked the scribe's work. And normally, scribes wrote down things that had actually been dictated.

Lothíriel picked up the document. "Tell me: who rules Rohan?"

"I love you, my liege."

She smiled. "I have a new task for you."

"Yes?" he asked as she crawled onto his lap and tangled her hands in his hair.

* * *

Please review! I'd like to write more for this pairing in the future.


End file.
